


The Star

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: In their years together Mycroft had had lessons to learn about being part of a relationship. The star on their tree is a small symbol of how far he's come.
Relationships: Mystrade - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 135
Collections: 12 Days of Mystrade and Friends, Mystrade Holiday 2020





	The Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).



> If this is in any way readable it's because Paia gave me her invaluable assistance. Y'all go thank her, k?

Seasoned apple wood from the Musgrave Hall orchard crackled gently in the hearth. Greg, toothsomely clad in a deep emerald green cashmere jumper, hummed along as Bing Crosby crooned his crooniest tune on Uncle Rudy’s old hi-fi.

Mycroft smiled, nose buried in his highly-encrypted laptop. Once, he would have been irritated at the slightly off-key tune (Greg’s youthful strummings on the guitar were never an indication that he was musical). He would have regarded it as an intrusion, just as he would have considered the boxes of lopsided childhood ornaments piled around him an overly-sentimental clutter. The music would have been a nuisance. Greg would have been — well, in any universe he hoped Greg would always have been welcome.

It was a narrow miss, however, in those early days. 

Mycroft had been — may the universe forgive him! — arrogant and selfish when Greg first entered his life. In his assurance that he was no man’s inferior, that his companionship was a boon, no matter how sparingly given, he’d very nearly lost Greg. It was only because Greg was a far kinder, more  _ human _ human being than he deserved, that they found themselves here. (Also, Greg had been human enough to give him a much-needed smack upside the head when he became a “massive Sherlock-sized prick.”)

Never again did Mycroft want to be haunted by even a hint that he was in any way like his brother.

Six cozy years later, Mycroft’s formerly lonely house was now very much their shared home. Christmas was approaching with the speed of a runaway train, and Greg, with all his characteristic love of the season, was plunging into preparations. The week before Christmas they would go together to choose a fresh tree for the drawing room, and decorate it. However, Greg insisted on decorating his artificial Asda tree with the decorations he and his siblings had made in their childhood. Last Christmas he’d even wheedled a box of Mycroft’s childish efforts from Mummy and Father. 

“How’s it look, love?” Greg stood back and admired his efforts. “Lopsided?”

“No moreso than usual,” Mycroft teased. He studied the tree. “Lower left quadrant, my dear. It’s a bit sparse.”

“Rightio,” Greg said cheerfully, diving into one of the boxes next to Mycroft. He swooped in for a kiss. “Mmm...hello.”

“Hello,” Mycroft reached up to cup the back of Greg’s neck, pulling him back down with a puckish twinkle, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

“Always,” Greg murmured, brushing his nose lightly over Mycroft’s, and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “How’s the work coming along?”

“Endless, as always. I’m coming to a good stopping place. Cocoa?”

Greg beamed at him, “Brilliant!”

Mycroft shut down his laptop and rose, stretching. “Back in a tick, darling.” Locking his files and laptop away, he shut the door of his study gratefully. Work was done for the weekend, barring an emergency so severe that Anthea and her assistant couldn’t handle it. Carving out time for himself on the weekends had been difficult at first, and at times he’d resented it. Work had, for so long, been his solace and the one area of life he could control. He’d hated to cede his power. But he’d found that his ability to focus during the week had improved vastly once he’d taken the time to unwind.

Now his weekends were sacrosanct, and his evenings, if at all possible, were free of work during the week. Mycroft was fully able to appreciate the previously eye-roll inducing phrase ‘work-life balance’ these days. Mycroft stared at his naked ring finger as he absentmindedly stirred the milk. He’d been giving considerable thought to further balance in his life. 

He wanted Greg as his husband, and had considered proposing on Christmas Eve. But on second thought he rather liked the idea of taking his lover to Barbados for his birthday and proposing there. Mycroft acknowledged that he was thoroughly ruining his Ice Man image. 

Smiling at the cocoa as he carefully measured it out, he thought,  _ And good riddance. _

Mycroft found Greg circling the tree admiringly as he carried two brimming mugs into the lounge. “Whaddya think, My?”

Mycroft handed Greg his mug and studied the tree, blowing softly at his own beverage. “Hmm,” he said at last, “Lovely...but incomplete.”

“I saved the star for you,” Greg said, setting down his mug. “Tradition, darlin’.” His eyes crinkled, “Plus, you’re taller.”

“Ah yes,” Mycroft said drolly, “A whole two inches.” He was pleased, however. This was only the second year Greg had saved the star for him, and the thought was somehow comforting. They were not a perfect couple, but they suited one another. They were building a life, a family tradition, together.

Greg handed him the gaudy star, and Mycroft stretched to place it with care. He gave it a bit of an adjustment, then lowered his arms, putting them automatically around his boyfriend. Greg snuggled his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and slipped an arm around his waist. “There,” Greg said softly, “now it’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” Mycroft agreed, heart full. He nuzzled Greg’s hair. “Perfect,” he repeated. Whether he proposed to Greg in three weeks or three months, after ages of planning or on the spur of the moment, it would be perfect.


End file.
